


Focus

by MathClassWarfare, ViciousSHADi



Series: We’ve Got Plenty of Time [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Art, Canon Related, Established Relationship, Headcanon, M/M, Noctis Lucis Caelum Lives, Older Noctis Lucis Caelum, Older Noctis Week, Older Prompto Argentum, Older Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, POV Prompto Argentum, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousSHADi/pseuds/ViciousSHADi
Summary: It’s time for Prompto to really look at Noct’s new scars.





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> For Older Noctis Week Day 4: Scars/Tears
> 
> __
> 
> I have the honor of collaborating with the amazing [Shadi](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi), and her art for this blows me away. You can see it [here](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi/status/1177268594792681472?s=20), and embedded in the fic, below.
> 
> (This is set in my post-game headcanon where Noctis comes back from the dead to live in obscurity. I don't think you have to read the whole series to read this one though.)

It’s only natural that Prompto would take tons of photos of Noctis. He’s a photographer, after all, and Noctis is super hot. Prompto’s been taking pictures of his best friend for years. The problem is that he can’t post them anywhere now, because Noctis is supposed to be dead. 

Sure, his hands have made the occasional appearance on social media—holding a fishing pole or balancing a stack of books—but the best pictures of Noctis are just for Prompto. He keeps them on his phone, protected by a passcode, and sometimes he’ll scroll through them when nobody’s looking. (He’s still got the old ones too, which he can look at all he wants. He tries not to be too obvious about it, though. People tend to get sad, and that’s always awkward.)

  


Noctis is looking particularly photogenic, still asleep in bed, when Prompto and Umbra get back from their morning run. Prompto admires him from the kitchen, while he drinks a glass of water. 

  


The duvet is mostly on the floor, kicked down past Noctis’s feet. He’s on his back, hair splayed out across the pillow—long, dark strands contrasting with the white sheets. The sun peeks through the blinds, casting lines of light across his chest.

  


Prompto sits beside Noctis and runs light fingers over his chest hair, considering the skin beneath. For too long, Prompto has avoided looking closely at this particular spot. 

“Tickles,” Noctis murmurs, but he doesn’t flinch away.

“Hey, can I take a picture of your scar?”

_“Huh?”_ Noctis squints through one eye and rubs at the other with his fist. “Which one?”

As an answer, Prompto bends forward and presses soft lips to Noctis’s sternum.

_“Mmm.”_ Noctis brushes a hand over Prompto’s neck and shoulder as he sits back up. “I guess. Sure.” 

Prompto smiles and kisses him, before standing to retrieve his camera from a bookshelf. 

Years ago, he took a close-up, black and white photo of the scar on Noctis’s back. It’s beautiful, if slightly unsettling. Maybe he can do something similar with this new one.

Returning to the bed, Prompto gets up onto his knees to hover over Noctis. He looks through his lens and really tries to see the jagged-edged shape that now sits at his beloved’s center. It’s the impact point of Noctis’s father’s sword—his birthright, and his fate.

Noctis is an introspective person and tends to dig in when something troubles him. This is the man who catalogued ten years of Prompto’s injuries in the form of a poem, because he couldn’t stop feeling guilty about being away. Prompto, on the other hand, usually defaults to avoidance. He’s been trying to work on that.

He’d thought looking at this scar through the camera would make it easier somehow—slightly removed and not so real. Nevertheless, the image of an empty throne room creeps at the edge of his thoughts. He pushes it away and takes some pictures.

Once he has a few good shots, he lowers himself onto Noctis’s lap. 

“Don’t move, okay?”

Noctis starts to smile, but he holds still. 

Prompto zooms in on his right hand, which is flung back over his head, relaxed and open. A burn forms a permanent ring around Noctis’s finger—where all that accumulated divine power sent him into the next world, so that he could save this one. While he tries to get a good shot, Prompto remembers how it felt to see the Dawn. He remembers how it felt to know that the most important person in his life was gone. 

  


“Can I move now?” Noctis asks, looking up at him with concern.

Prompto nods and lowers the camera, swiping at his eyes. 

Noctis shifts beneath him and puts his hands on Prompto’s hips. “Hey,” he says, fingering at the elastic waistband of Prompto’s running shorts.

“Hey,” Prompto responds in a shaky voice.

“I’m okay now,” Noctis reminds him.

Prompto has to cover his mouth to muffle the sob that erupts from deep inside. The lens didn’t give him much distance after all.

Gently, Noctis takes the camera and sets it on the bedside table, then pulls him to his chest and holds him close. Prompto sinks into Noctis, inhaling his familiar scent and dampening his hair with tears.

  


“I’m okay,” Noctis repeats. “And I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to fandom friends for sharing your creative work and your ideas and your feels. Shoutout to [@moonwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwaif/pseuds/moonwaif) for editing this and a bunch of other fic for this week.


End file.
